The Infatuation of Dr Jonathan Crane
by MissScorp
Summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane has developed a fascination with the new doctor at the Asylum. But it's the Scarecrow who has decided that he is going to offer her the position of a lifetime. Asylum-verse. Set before and during the events of Batman: Arkham Asylum. Features Batman, Red Hood, and the villainous Scarecrow at his finest! T for mild swearing and disturbing themes.
1. The Plan

**A/N: **This is set before the events of Batman: Arkham Asylum.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but for the general concept of my theme and storyline, which includes the behavioral agent called 'Inceptive'.

* * *

It was after seven in the evening and Arkham Asylum was ablaze with an obscene amount of activity. Guards and orderlies and other staff members rushed about, helping the Asylum doctors to process the influx of patients arriving from Blackgate Penitentiary after a mysterious fire left hundreds of inmates in need of temporary rehousing. The arrival of the prisoners was causing a massive upheaval to the Asylum's normal routine.

Dr. Jonathan Crane listened to the guttural screams and animalistic curses, intermixed with the feeble and humble pleas of the damned, through his cell wall. Sitting cross-legged upon his cot, a large tome open on his lap, he was busy contemplating the thin, balding man who stood on the other side of his cell door, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"I am surprised, Nichols. Are you not concerned with the... repercussions of refusing to do what it is that I ask of you?"

The slithery innuendo that coated Crane's voice sent tingles of alarms dancing along Nichols spine.

"I cannot do you any more favors, Crane," Dr. Albus Nichols said desperately. "The Warden is beginning to get suspicious as it is."

"Oh, my good doctor," Crane said softly, pleasantly. "The favor that I want to ask of you has nothing to do with my research. Nor will it, I assure you, cause our dear Warden a moment's concern."

What Nichols heard was that refusal meant his shameful secret would be exposed to the world. He could not afford that happening and Crane knew it. The doctor sighed as the invisible bars fell down around him, trapping him yet again in the prison of Crane's control.

"What is it that you want, Crane?"

"I just want you to suggest that another Doctor should take over as my primary doctor."

Dr. Nichols was surprised by the request. It was so unlike any of Crane's other requests. And made him suspicious instantly.

"You..." he said slowly. "You want me to tell the Warden that I think someone else should become your doctor?"

"Yes."

"But, why?"

Crane unfolded his lanky frame and scuttled over to the cell door.

"We have a doctor that is on temporary loan from the GCPD," he said. "A young woman whose grandfather was the renowned Neuropsychiatrist, Dr. Matthew Berkeley Sr.," Crane crooned the name almost reverently. "And I wish for _this_ doctor to become _my _doctor."

Nichols recognized Dr. Berkeley's name and remembered him as being the creator of a powerful neural agent that he'd called _Inceptive. _That Crane was bringing up Dr. Berkeley could only mean one thing.

"You want Dr. Kean to take over as your doctor," Nichols said with a slight frown. "Because she will have access to her grandfather's notes about _Inceptive_."

"Of course. But my good doctor," Crane smiled. "I also desire the company of Dr. Kean."

Nichols sighed. And reminded himself about how protesting would only risk his own dark secrets exposed. And he couldn't chance that happening.

"And what do you want me to say to the Warden in order to convince him to assign Dr. Kean to your case? She doesn't exactly work with patients of your caliber."

"Just suggest to the Warden that you think, given Dr. Kean's extensive background with spectral disorders, that she should be the one handling my treatment."

"What it is that you plan on doing with Dr. Kean once you acquire the notes on the _Inceptive_ formula?" the doctor asked.

"You really shouldn't ask me that," Crane answered. "Though, I suppose that you knowing does not really affect my plans..."

"What do you have planned?"

"I merely plan to offer the doctor the most prestigious position that she could ever hope to aspire to."

"And what position is that?"

Crane's lips curled, and his limpid blue eyes shone with a hint of the madness lurking beneath the surface.

"Why, I'm going to make the lovely doctor my Mistress of Fear."


	2. The answer is no

Arkham Island, which housed the _Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane_, was at the end of a miles long stretch of road that was lined with trees that moved like skeletons in the gentle breeze blowing. It was vacant of any other type of vegetation, deprived of anything to relieve the eerie chill that snaked across the fractured pavement. Raya hated whenever she made the drive out to the asylum because she always felt as if she was driving the highway to hell. Which was why she tended to work for the asylum on a needs only basis. Her choice was not only driven by her dislike for this miles long byway, but also because of her distaste for the asylum itself. Arkham Asylum was an emotionally taxing, cognitively demanding environment where there was a constant need to keep a close watch upon the vast population housed within its cavernous walls. Taking care of the inmates on a daily basis was a daunting, and frequently impossible task.

The asylum's guards, doctors, and various other staff all kept a close eye upon their uniquely diverse colony via closed-circuit cameras that were stationed above every door in the entire complex, by making constant patrols of the numerous wards, and by carefully monitoring every form of communication the inmates were allowed. Even with all the technological modifications that Warden Sharp had made to the asylum's security system, there was still a large number of the population who required even more strict measures in order to keep them from escaping. But then there were some, like the Joker, who could not be kept locked away in one of the Ashlyn's deepest, darkest holes no matter what provisions were put in place. _Joker breaks out of Arkham almost as often as Scorpion breaks out of the Netherrealm,_ she thought. _Only the spectre doesn't go on a murdering spree just for the sheer shits and giggles of it_.

Arkham Asylum loomed larger than life in front of her, its every pointed arch, ribbed vault, and flying buttress wer made even more ominous, set as they were among the skeletal figures that danced in the twilight. Arkham Island, and the Asylum grounds themselves were like something straight out of a Tim Burton movie. The only thing missing was Johnny Depp. The wheels of her car spewed gravel as she drove through the massive iron gates. She saw a balding doctor, replete with white lab coat and horn-rimmed spectacles, waiting for her on the front steps of the Intensive Treatment building. She parked and stepped from the car.

"You are Dr. Nichols?"

"That's right, uh—Dr. Kean. I'm Doctor Albus Nichols."

She made her way towards the steps that led up to the entrance of the forbidding building. Dr. Nichols watched her, and felt guilt cramping deep in his belly for what he was doing. Dr. Raya Kean was much younger than he'd thought she was, and much too sweet and innocent for someone of Crane's demented caliber. But the weight of his dark secret being discovered was looming over him, and he knew he had no choice. It was give into Crane's demand or risk social disgrace and ruin. He offered the young doctor a bland smile.

"I realize that this is a highly unusual request…"

"Considering that the request was made by Dr. Crane and not yourself?" Raya slanted a sideways look at the doctor. "It really is not all that unusual."

"You…?" he stammered.

"Knew?" she nodded. "Yes. Dr. Crane has had his previous doctors all make formal requests to have me assigned as his personal doctor. I have been waiting for when he'd have you make his next one, in fact."

"But..." Nichols said slowly. "If you knew that Crane was the one who had made the request..."

"Then why did I come?" Her teeth flashed for a moment in the shadows. "Because I want to make sure that Dr. Crane is tucked away where he belongs. Shall we?"

Nichols nodded and together they stepped into the Intensive Treatment Lobby. It was after eight and the lobby was ablaze with activity. Guards and orderlies and other staff members were rushing about, helping process the influx of inmates transferred here after a mysterious fire at Blackgate had left hundreds in need of temporary rehousing.

Raya had been helping with the rehousing when the Warden phoned to tell her of the doctor's request to have her replace him as Crane's primary caregiver. Inmates yowled and made disparaging and disgusting sexual remarks as they traveled the main transverse corridor to the elevators. Nichols glanced at the young doctor, his eyes wary.

"You do realize that Doctor Crane is considered a level 8 patient?"

"Yes."

Nichols stopped in the middle of a hallway and turned to face her.

"It does not bother you that you are, essentially, heading into the lion's den? And that there is nobody here to protect you should things get out of hand?"

Exactly why he was risking public humiliation for this small slip of a girl, he did not know. But it felt wrong to him, sacrificing someone whose only crime was being the granddaughter of a man with the brilliant mind of Matthew Berkeley Sr.

"I am well aware that I have no protection should things get out of hand," Raya said slowly. "But I am assured that all will be well."

It was clear that the doctor was trying to dissuade her from speaking with Crane. The question Raya asked herself now, was why? What did Crane have planned that this man was trying to warn her about. Nichols gestured to a set of stairs.

"You know that the control room is just up that set of stairs there. We could..."

Raya shook her head. "I need to see Dr. Crane in his cell, Dr. Nichols. I need to speak with him personally."

"But the monitors..."

"Are frequently fooled by the asylum's very creative and most clever inmates. And Jonathan Crane, as mentally imbalanced as he is, is not only exceptionally creative and clever, but incredibly dangerous as well."

"Which is why," Nichols said. "We keep him under twenty-four surveillance. We do not take any chances with Crane."

"A very wise thing to do considering the doctor's propensity for using his Fear toxins upon the asylum's guards and staff."

Raya made a slight _after-you _motion with her hand, and Nichols moved on towards the thick steel doors that formed the portal to what was supposed to be an environment as secure as Fort Knox. The labyrinthine corridors and hallways of Arkham Asylum were enough to disturb Raya's sense of direction. Occasionally, they passed isolated habitats, home to the more dangerous and extreme members of the asylum's population. Raya was about to ask Nichols about how much farther it was when she spied Crane's octagon shaped glass cell at the end of the corridor.

Though still decorated in sterile hospital white, the cell was nowhere near as spartan as a few of those they passed. Clear plastic bookshelves circled one side of the room and were filled, as she expected them to be, with huge psychology textbooks, hundreds of notepads and plain yellow folders covered with sticky notes, and a smattering of select works of fiction-mostly classics but with a few surprising tomes of poetry.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was standing in front of one of the bookshelves, caressing one of the thick tomes with one long finger. He turned at the sound of their approach, his large, pale eyes only mildly curious behind the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses. Though nowhere as pale as the Joker, Crane's skin was still the color of fresh cream. It made his thick shock of dark hair stand out in contrast. Raya always found herself taken aback by the extreme differences of Crane's two personalities. When the Scarecrow was not in control, Jonathan Crane was a quiet, studious kind of man who was unfailingly polite, uncharacteristically pleasant, and so proper that he reminded her of Alfred Pennyworth.

That did not excuse nor in any way make light of the atrocities that his other side had committed. A brilliant psychiatrist and chemist, Crane had focused his research upon the study of fear, particularly phobic fears and their causes. His doctoral thesis on the subject was still considered the definitive analysis on the psychology of fear. She'd studied his research as an undergraduate, and could admit that she'd felt a certain fascination while reading a number of the articles that he'd written on the subject.

Crane's scholarly ways and gaunt physique added to his image of harmless researcher. But the image was misleading. Much like the Joker, Crane had surprising strength and stamina for one who appeared so frail. He was hyper mobile, capable of contorting his body without any apparent pain or difficulty. She'd seen video footage of him in his Scarecrow persona contort his skeletal frame into positions and poses that were startling to behold. And when he combined those supple distortions with that hideous gas mask and those toxins he so favored, he became something utterly terrifying to his victims.

"Dr. Kean?" his soft voice questioned. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Raya stepped into a pool of light at the entrance of his cell.

"As if you don't know just why it is that I am here, Dr. Crane."

"Ah yes, my _request_ to have you replace Dr. Nichols as my personal doctor." He smiled, looking almost boyish. "You really cannot blame me for wanting to have someone whom is as well versed as you are in spectral disorders handling my case. Nor can you rightly blame me for desiring someone professional to overlook my care. You _are_ aware that there is a severe lack of professionalism and ethical practice going on here at the asylum, aren't you?"

"No," Raya said. His sly, manipulative tone was not lost upon her. "I was not aware that there was a lack of either professionalism or ethical practice occurring here at the asylum."

"Oh, yes," Crane simpered as he shuffled closer to the clear barrier. His voice dropped down to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't you know that quite a few inhuman experiments have been performed upon the inmates by one of Akham's most prolific doctors?" Crane's gaze flicked to Nichols, but he continued speaking to her. "Is that not true, Dr.?"

Nichols felt his face blanch white at the implication prevalent in Crane's silky tone. Raya heard it as well and turned to stare at the doctor, one brow lifted questioningly. She'd heard what Crane was saying about the experiments and was appalled. But it was what the doctor _wasn't_ saying, as well as Nichols' reaction, that held her attention at that moment. _Interesting_, she thought as she swung her gaze back and forth between the two men.

Crane looked like a little boy bursting at the seams with a secret to tell, while Nichols was sweating bullets and dancing from foot to foot. _Clearly, the secret is about Nichols_. Just what kind of secret was dark enough that a man like Albus Nichols would risk his entire career and reputation to keep hidden she did not know though. But she had a couple of guesses.

It was clear that he'd already gone to great lengths in order to keep Crane quiet. Suddenly, how Crane had not only managed to get his hands on the chemicals needed to brew a new batch of his Fear toxin, but was able to make his last escape from the asylum made all the sense in the world. _We'd assumed that he had had help_. Now it was confirmed just who his helper was. She made a note to pass that particular piece of information onto Bruce once she left the asylum. For now...

"Is what Dr. Crane saying true, Doctor Nichols?" she asked.

Nichols breathed a silent sigh of relief. His secret, it seemed, was still safe. 'For now'. He nodded, said slowly; "I...am afraid so, Dr. Kean."

"And you know this because?"

"Because there have been a number of inmates that have been brought into the medical ward after suffering some type of allergic reaction to a toxin they'd been injected with."

She made a note to also mention these experiments when she got back to the cave. No matter what the men and women imprisoned within these walls had done, they deserved humane and ethical treatment. That they were not offended and appalled her on every level.

"And do you know which of the doctors is performing these _experiments_?"

Nichols looked at the young woman, nodded.

"Dr. Young is the one who is performing the experiments."

Raya nodded, looked back at the lanky figure that was still behind the glass.

"Well, it looks as if you will be getting a new doctor assigned to you after all." She saw delight as well as a hint of that underlying aberration creep into those lucent eyes. "But it will not be me," she saw him frown, dark brows drawing together over his sharp nose as he gazed at her in annoyed disbelief. "Good evening, Dr. Crane."

Raya turned and began making her way back the way they'd come. She had just turned the corner into the main corridor when she heard Crane's soft, plaintive voice twist into the shrill cackle that belonged to the Scarecrow:

"You have not heard the last of me, Dr. Kean!"


	3. The Games Begin

Raya found herself in the middle of pandemonium the moment that she re-entered the Intensive Treatment Lobby. Uniformed police officers and Asylum security were strong arming a group of Blackgate prisoners into one of the empty holding cells. A scuffle soon ensued between the opposing factions and escalated as more prisoners and guards got involved. Hands grabbed her and yanked her out of the way a split second before she would have been plowed into by an Arkham guard that was sent sailing backwards following a meaty right hook to his jaw. Other guards swarmed the face painted behemoth, hitting him with stun batons and Billy clubs.

"What in the Sam Hill are you doing here?"

Raya turned to gaze upon a man with glasses, a thick mustache, a full head of shockingly white hair, wearing a rumpled white dress shirt with a button down navy blue vest and matching trousers, and a striped red tie. James Gordon, the acting Police Commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department, world-class police detective, close ally and friend of Batman, father of Barbara Gordon, and uncle as well as surrogate dad number _one_. _What am I doing here? What are you doing here_? she silently asked. But Raya was wise enough to not answer his question with her own. She'd learned a long time ago that _that_ kinda cutesyness only got her into even hotter waters than she was in already.

"Crane made his monthly request for me to take over as his doctor," she told him.

"And that necessitated you coming out here to the asylum, why?"

"I wanted to tell him no in person," she said cheerfully.

Gordon sighed. And ignored her cheekiness.

"How many of these requests has he made at this point? Twelve? Thirteen?"

Her teeth flashed for a moment. "Sixteen."

Gordon shook his head; grunted softly. "I applaud the doctor for his persistence. However," he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She was going to object to what he said next, cite it as him going into overprotective dad-mode. Well, he thought, there just wasn't a switch that he could flip that turned off _dad-mode_. And he was _her_ dad as much as he was Barbara's. "I don't want you coming out here to see Crane alone."

"I cannot ignore a request from Sharp," she said. "I am a member of Arkham's staff, and I have patients that I treat here. I do have to answer his summons."

Gordon took a minute to fish around in his pockets for a rag to wipe the lenses of his glasses with before saying; "I know that you have patients and responsibilities here at the asylum, Raya. And that you cannot ignore when Sharp summons you. But stick to your patients and avoid Crane. Because even as mentally imbalanced as he is, Crane is still exceptionally creative and clever, and incredibly dangerous."

"I know that Crane is dangerous, but…"

"And," he continued over the start of what he'd knew would be a splendidly crafted line of reasoning meant to justify why she was perfectly capable of facing Crane on her own. "While I won't ask that you bring Batman with you the next time that you come out here..." he trailed off.

She smiled and brushed a kiss to that whiskered cheek; breathed in the familiar combination of tobacco and aftershave and felt a flood of memories-all good, assail her.

"You realize that that's _dad-lingo_ for 'I am not gonna ask that you outright do this, but I am gonna strongly hint about how it's what I really want you to do.'"

He humphed. "It may sound like _dad-lingo_ to you, young lady, but..."

Gordon was prohibited from finishing his statement when another fight broke out in the hallway, this time between three hulking henchmen in orange prison garb and select members of the Joker's crew. They moved into the control room as Asylum security and officers swarmed in to bring the mob back into some semblance of order. Raya stood watching the discombobulated commotion going on, feeling pin pricks of unease curl in her belly as well as tingle along the base of her spine.

"I see that it is shaping up to be an interesting night," she said quietly.

"Joker's invaded City Hall and is holding the Mayor hostage and left me to juggle SWAT teams, the media, the re-housing of Blackgate's prisoners and Batman. Yeah," Gordon shook his head. "It's shaping up to be a helluva night."

Raya glanced over at him. "I think Joker has something planned for this evening."

"Joker always has something planned," Gordon said dryly.

"I know he does. Yet something about tonight just doesn't feel right. That fire at Blackgate was too conveniently… _arranged_ for my taste."

Gordon turned to look at the plethora of the clown's crew currently in the holding cells. There were more than four dozen down there easily. And an amount that was equal to that which had already been processed and taken below. The sheer number of thugs that had been transported here to the Asylum could just be an odd coincidence.

Except…

"What are you thinking?"

Eyes as hard as Japanese jade shifted to study the thugs howling and yipping like a pack of wild wolves.

"I'm thinking that the Joker has been manipulating each chain of events that has occurred since his escape last week," she said quietly. "I'm thinking that the weekend bank robberies were his way of getting more members of his gang housed within Blackgate."

"And the fire his way of getting those gang members moved here to Arkham."

She nodded; her expression grim. "Precisely."

"But what's the reason? What's he hoping to prove with all this?"

"I don't think he intends to _prove_ anything." Her voice took on a bitter edge. "This is just a game to that pasty-faced freak. It's always some type of a game with him, in fact. And we both know how Batman is the playmate that the son of a bitch likes to play these infernal games with."

"Which explains why he took the Mayor hostage. He wanted Batman to come for him." He shook his head before another thought occurred. "You're figuring that his capture is the signal for the games to begin."

"Yes, I am."

World-weary blue eyes turned to gaze at the animals locked in those iron cages. _How many games has he played with that pasty-faced freak_? He silently wondered. _A hundred? A thousand? When will the games end_? Gordon realized that he knew that answer already. And it caused a pang of alarm to resonate from deep within his chest.

"You go and help Batman," he told her. "Keep him and that damn clown away from Arkham."

The ghost of a smile curved her lips. "Is that _dad-lingo_ for 'I don't like it, but I'm sending out the other you because I don't have any other options'?"

"That's _boss-lingo_ telling you to go help stop the madman before he can begin playing whatever damn game it is that he's got concocted." But his face softened. "And it's _dad-lingo_ for 'I trust you, but be careful.'"

She kissed his cheek. "I'll be careful," she assured him.

* * *

"My, but the good doctor is proving to be much harder to woo than I had anticipated."

Crane stood in the center of his cell, hands folded at his waist. Standing in front of the cell door, Nichols took in the doctor's calm, slightly puzzled demeanor. It was a vast difference from the shrill madman of moments before. Not for the first time (and certainly not the last), Nichols found himself chilled by the rapid-fire way in which Dr. Jonathan Crane and the Scarecrow could trade places. Not even Dr. Jekyll could trade places with the diabolical Mr. Hyde in quite the seamless way that Crane traded places with the Scarecrow.

"What does a schizophrenic monster like you know about wooing a woman like Dr. Kean?"

Crane laughed softly. "What's this, Nichols? Have you developed a bit of a _tendre_ for my intended?"

"Intended?" Nichols spluttered. "You're mad if you think that a woman like Dr. Kean will ever agree to marry a man like you!"

"Oh, but a man like me has ways of convincing someone to do just what it is that I desire them too."

There was a dark and wet undercurrent to his voice that said that the monster lurking below the doctor's conscious was but waiting to make another appearance. That moist hiss not only warned the beleaguered man about his own precarious situation with Crane, but specified just how the demented fiend planned to convince the girl to accept his _suit_. He just couldn't stand it, he just could not stand there and allow somebody with such a kind and giving heart to become little more than Crane's version of Harley Quinn.

"I will go to the Warden if I have too, Crane. I will tell Sharp about everything-getting the materials that you needed to make a new batch of Fear toxin, acquiring research subjects for you to perform your tests upon, helping you to escape, all of it."

Crane, watching his expression, smiled.

"I notice how nowhere in your heroic little speech do you specify exactly why you did those things for me, Doctor." He simpered. "Just how do you think that a woman like Dr. Kean is going to feel when I tell her that her erstwhile protector has an erotic proclivity for sexual contact with corpses? And what do you think that she will do when she learns that all those _unexplained_ deaths of the last six weeks were committed in order for you to have a fresh supply of bodies to pick and choose from?"

Nichols felt his world tilt; crumble. As much as he hated it, Crane still held all the most important cards. Revealing his sexual propensity as well as who was the cause for all the unexplained deaths lately was like a 7-card stud hand that had Kings and Queens showing on the table. Crane still held three facedown cards. And one of those cards would determine whether the hand was a full boat or merely two-pair. Either one damning. Neither one something he wanted revealed on the flop. Defying Crane at the expense of having his biggest secret exposed would leave his reputation, as well as that of his family's, in ruin. He couldn't chance it. _I'm sorry, Doctor_, he thought. _I have no choice_.

"You win, Crane. You win. I will do whatever it is that you ask of me."

"Oh, I knew that you would," Crane said cheerfully. "Now, release me from this infernal cell. I have special plans for this evening and need to don my vestments before my Mistress of honor arrives."

With a heavy heart, Nichols unlocked the cell's thick, glass door. Then he stepped back and watched as the Grand Master of Fear stepped into the dark corridor, free to rein terror upon anyone unlucky enough to cross his path.


	4. What are you?

_A few hours after the Joker has overtaken the Asylum..._

Batman felt the needles prick through the frayed material covering his arm. The reaction was instant, the poison intermingling with the other doses of toxin he'd already received that night. His brain exploded as every fear, every nightmare, every horrible scene he'd encountered over the course of his career flooded into him. All the demons he fought, that he only barely held at bay, all the unsettled ghosts he'd yet to lay to rest, all the traumas he'd never healed from—all of them slammed into him one after another. A kaleidoscope of memories and images. A merry-go-round of pain. And all for him.

"You've ingested enough toxins to drive ten men insane!" Scarecrow exclaimed.

He released Crane and stumbled back, his hands clutching his head as he bit back the scream that wanted to erupt from his throat. The doctor studied the dark figure opposite him; his breath coming in sharp, staccato rasps. Finally, he managed to gasp, "_What are you_?!" before he turned to flee down the passageway.

Batman tried to follow, he desperately wanted to give chase, but it felt like he was being held in place by invisible hands.

"Poor Batman… " Crane called from the end of the passageway. "You're just as crazy as the rest of us."

He let out a tiny hiss of sound, his only physical manifestation of the pain tearing its way through his mind. Someone grabbed him, turned him around, wrapping arms that felt like tentacles about him and holding tight. He struggled to get free, but they just tightened their hold upon him.

"It's okay Bruce," they said in a voice that was soft as a midsummer's rain. "I've got you. You're safe."

Hearing that voice was enough to shatter the toxins hold over him. Batman angled his head to look down at the figure wrapped around him like a vine. And seeing those verdant eyes glowing up at him with worry, and feeling the solid reality of her body pressed against his slammed the doors on the fear still coursing through him. Her name was Fenix and she was the niece of Jim Gordon, cousin of Oracle, best friend of both Nightwing and Red Robin, confidante of Robin, partner of the Red Hood. And like a daughter to him. It was that paternal feeling that had him fold her into his arms and rasp;

"I thought I told you to stay in the Cave?"

She ignored that growl; knew it to just be his way of regaining control.

"You did tell me to stay in the Cave," she said quietly. "But Hood, Robin and I took a vote on whether I should obey or not," her lips curved, impishly. "And _you_ lost."

That both of his sons had chosen to support her in contravening his order was not that surprising to him. Jason and Damian had formed individual and unique bonds with her during the months that he'd been lost in Darkseid's _Omega Sanction_. And those bonds had only grown deeper in the six months since her physical return home. But where they'd had the chance of enjoying her being in their everyday lives, he was just beginning to get used to having her back in his. And where they were comfortable with her being a part of their professional lives, saw her as one of the team and relied on her as such, he was still coming to grips with her being a part of that life.

He freely admitted that he wasn't used to seeing her in a full body suit. Or seeing those eyes ringed by that thin black mask. Nor had he quite worked his way around to accepting that she could boldly wade into a group of thugs and take them down without a moment's hesitation, and with only a minimal amount of complication. But he was slowly coming around to accepting that she was the Fenix. _Slowly_. He'd already come around to the fact that just like Oracle, the Fenix was a well-trained, highly-skilled and extremely capable crime fighter.

And she should be all those things, he realized as he rest his cheek against the top of her head. He'd been the one to teach her a great many of those skills that she possessed. Skills that she had definitely honed during the course of her partnerships with both Nightwing and Red Robin and refined on her five year trip abroad. She had an aggressive fighting style that was quite similar to his ground and pound approach. But where he was built for brute strength and bone-crushing force, she combined speed with agility to flavor her in-your-face approach.

_But I'm just not ready to let this little birdie fly solo, _he thought_. Not anymore than I am ready to allow Robin to fly solo._

And he knew that that was not logical. He'd told himself dozens of times since discovering that Raya Kean and Fenix was the same woman that he was being irrational, that his concerns were unfounded and that he was being more protective of her than her own uncle. But he couldn't help how he felt. He had already lost this little imp once. He feared losing her again. _Permanently this time_.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped.

"Your Batsuit was tossing off some extreme spikes in respiratory and heart rate. Spikes that I know coincide with our natural fight-or-flight response to stress or fear. And since I know that you tend to handle stress _oh so well_..." she trailed off, smiled.

"You knew that I must have had some type of encounter with Crane."

She nodded and held up a syringe that was filled with a milky white substance that he recognized instantly as his fear antidote.

"Be why I decided to bring you this," she said. "As indomitable as I know that your will is, and as much as you have inoculated yourself against the majority of Crane's Fear toxins, prolonged exposure to his gas could still cause even _you_ harm. And for the record..."

He let her trail on, only paying minimal attention to the lecture she was giving. Because his mind was fixated upon something else. The answer that he'd been trying to figure out, the solution that'd been eluding him these last few months, finally came to him. He knew just what role it was that she served to fill.

What role she'd decided to fill.

A role which was only suited for her to fill.

And which was the most perfect roll for her, in fact.

Because where he was the hammer, Nightwing the protector, Red Robin the detective, Robin the warrior, Red Hood the street fighter, and Oracle the database? Fenix was the doctor. She was the one who tended to their physical and corporeal bodies. Who nurtured their bodies and kept them at their optimal best. And was the one who healed those bodies when they became broken. And wasn't that the role she'd chosen as her own? he silently asked. Wasn't that the mantle she was adopting long before her father nearly killed Dick and sent her on a five year trip around the world? Still, she'd contramanded his directive by coming here and needed to learn that when he gave her an order, she needed to follow it. He looked down into her upturned face.

"You are to leave after you give me the fear antidote."

She rolled her eyes, said; "As much as I would _love_ to argue with you about allowing me to stay and help you put that goddamn clown back where he belongs," she made a face. "Jas has me under strict orders to have my ass back at the entrance of the Intensive Treatment building in exactly twenty minutes of finding you. Or else all sorts of hell will break loose around here."

"You came here with Jason?"

His shock must have shown on his face. Because after administering the antidote, she stretched up on her tiptoes and laced her arms around his neck. It was a gesture full of warmth and affection. And which worked to soothe away any lingering hurt, fatigue and anger that he was feeling.

"That's right Bruce," she teased. "I'm here with your darker, angrier, more volatile and morally ambiguous, gun-toting, C4 wielding son."

_And isn't that just a tiny bit ironic_, he thought as he stroked a hand over her hair. _The two children that I lost? Are the two children who ended up finding each other._

Robin pushing the Red Hood and Fenix into working as partners had not made much sense to him. Not at first. The differences between Raya Kean and Jason Todd were about as momumental as those between Talia and himself. But now he realized that his youngest son had seen that there was something that the two superheroes were missing from their lives. And because he cared for the both of them, wanted to see them both happy, he'd pushed them towards each other.

Which was why Bruce knew that his son would more than happily carry out his vitriolic attack if Raya did not return to the docks in the time period he'd specified. He felt his lips twitch at that. He admitted that he was overprotective of Raya. And had a reason to be. But Jason's reasons for wanting to protect her, to keep her safe were not governed by _fatherly_ affection and concern. And irrationality was almost as synonymous with the Red Hood as anachronistic displays of violence were to the Joker.

"You'd better hurry." His breath stirred the hair at her temple. "You only have three minutes to get down to the front entrance before Jason begins tearing the Asylum grounds apart in order to find you."

She sighed as she stepped back.

"Jason tearing the island apart might be the only way of stopping the Joker from unleashing whatever it is that he has planned, Bruce."

"I'll stop the Joker," he assured her. "You just stop Jason from destroying the island."

"Patience," she huffed as she turned to leave. "I'm gonna teach that man _patience_. So help me if I _don't_."

"Just love him, Raya," he told her quietly. "That's what he's always needed. What he's always wanted."

"He needs _you_ to love him, Bruce. _You're_ his father."

Bruce sighed, once. Heavily. "He hasn't wanted or needed me in a long time."

She looked over her shoulder at him, a wealth of knowledge in her eyes for one who was so young.

"Jason Todd might act like he's all grown up and doesn't need or want you or your love. But he does. Desperately so in fact." Her lips curved. "Why do you think that he's been doing everything in his power to get your attention these last few years? It's not only because he wants his dad to pay attention to him, but because he has a need to prove himself worthy of his dad's love."

And with that parting statement hanging upon the stale air, she turned and disappeared into the vent she'd used to access the Cell Block Transfer. Bruce stood there for another minute, silently contemplative. _It's a helluva thing to have someone so much younger than you point out what you should have been able to have seen for yourself_, he thought with a slight shake of his head. But, time was ticking and the Joker was still free to wreck mayhem and havoc on the asylum. He slowly began making his way towards the exit. But as he went he vowed that he was going to speak with Jason when he got back to the cave. Because there was one thing that he wanted to make abundantly clear to his son: that he had no need to prove himself worthy of his love.

He loved him no matter what.


	5. Courtship

After leaving Batman in the Cell Block Transfer area, Raya made her way back into Secure Transit. She exited her vent and began making her way towards the only elevator that was still operational. She hit the button to open the doors. Someone appeared in the open doorway, wearing frayed and pieced together brown clothing and a burlap gas mask.

_Crane?_

"Good evening my dear," he said politely.

"What are you doing here, Crane?"

"Why, I was waiting for you, of course." He said cheerily. "I have something I want to show you."

"Oh," she angled her head to look at him, her gaze riddled with suspicion and distrust. "And just what is it that you want to _show_ me?"

He giggled, more a high pitched cackle than an actual laugh and reached toward her with the hand not covered by that Freddy Krueger-like glove. That Crane had not immediately injected her with a dose of that glowing yellow substance struck her as completely out of his character. She found herself not only wondering _why, _but also about _what_ it was that the man was up too.

"I want to show you the truly fascinating power of _fear._"

Raya didn't have time to react. A small puff of gas shot from his sleeve and hit her in the face. The back of her throat began to burn and she choked on a gasp. Her eyes began to water and she fingered the moisture away before looking up...

..._spiders boiled up and out of the mask's eyeholes, fell from that gaping black maw._

Raya jerked back, stifling a small shriek. But she found that her body was frozen, rooted to the spot upon which she stood. It was like invisible hands were holding her immobile, powerless as Fear's grand manipulator slid closer, ever closer. Crane cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him.

... _spiders pouring from that mask, crawling along that skeletal arm_...

"Can't you feel it?" he crooned. "Can't you feel as it courses through your bloodstream? Flows along every neural synapse? Can't you feel the acceleration in your heart and respiratory rate, the way that every muscle has tensed in preparation for the bodies natural desire to flee from a potential threat?"

Gently, almost reverently, he swept his thumb over her flesh. It was the first time he'd ever been allowed close to her. The first time that he was able to reach out and physically touch the skin that, until now, he'd only been able to imagine would be soft as silk. That first touch had a sunburst explode in the middle of his chest. Tendrils of heat and light shot throughout every inch of his body, warming the regions coated in ice, and sending the manipulative and twisted fiend that was alive within him scurrying back to the deepest, darkest shadows of his mind. It was a heady sensation to a man who'd spent years feeling absolutely _nothing_.

"I have waited patiently for when I would finally have you alone," he stroked his fingers across her cheek, into her hair. "To be able to speak to you without the watchful eyes and ears of the Arkham staff observing us."

"I cannot imagine that there is anything that you need to say to me that you could not say in front of the staff."

"Oh, but there is," his voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper. "Considering that you have been quite adverse to all of my other attempts at wooing you..."

Raya wrenched her head away.

"And does your version of _wooing _involve dosing me with Fear gas?"

"Come now, Dr. Kean," he chided. "It was but a small, concentrated dose that was designed to simulate the physiological manifestation of fear." Only internally did he qualify that there was only enough of the chemicals compound in the dose to show her the power to be found in manipulating and controlling fear. He would never, of course, administer a full dose of his serum to her. "It was the level of dosage that one would receive in a clinical setting. Harmless really."

He knew who she was, she realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Somehow, _somehow, _Jonathan Crane had managed to deduce her identity as the Fenix.

"How?" she asked him. "How did you figure out that I am the Fenix?"

Crane pulled off his mask and said, in an adoring voice, "Why whom else could so splendidly incorporate two vastly different personalities into one person?" He quoted now. "_'Someone who takes on a dual identity through the adoption of a public and private persona finds themselves in an intricate position. The very nature of the vigilante is to avoid detection and they will do so at almost any cost. But they risk having the masked persona become their true persona while the non-dominant personality becomes the mask which they present to the world._'"

_He'd read her research article on vigilantism and the hero complex. _She didn't know whether she should be flattered or not. She gazed at him, silently contemplative. It was almost, he thought, hypnotic. The way that she looked at him, fully, directly, deeply. As if he was more than a monster, or common criminal. Her direct manner, her vast knowledge of psychological disorders and her keen intellect were what had intrigued him, initially. But he found himself now bewitched by her subtle elegance, her quiet pride and dignity. The dim light played over her skin like honey coating alabaster, in her eyes like gilt circling emerald.

It had surprised him to discover they had so many things in common. Books enjoyed, music appreciated, movies favorited. He'd spent a considerable amount of time learning what he could about her. He knew she'd been born here in Gotham, grew up in a house ruled by violence, an only child like himself. Her parents had given the majority of her day-to-day care into the hands of tutors and nannies. Her grandfather, the renowned Neuropsychiatrist Matthew Berkeley Sr., had taken her in his lab and begun schooling her in cognitive disorders when she was ten. Her mother had been murdered when she was thirteen, and she'd gone to live with her uncle. She'd gone to the University of California and earned degrees in psychology, criminology and literature. She'd never married, had no children. Considering her upbringing, he did not find that surprising.

"What is it you are after here, Crane?" she was saying.

"I," he simpered. "But wish to offer you a most illustrious position."

Raya ignored the clutch in her belly and concentrated on remaining calm.

"I have told you that I will not take over as your doctor."

"I do not desire your services as my doctor. I never did in fact."

She swallowed around the hard lump in her throat. "What is it that you want then? What have the months of requests been about, if not to have me become your doctor?"

"Why," Crane leaned in close, close enough that he could smell the heady, exotic scent of jasmine and start to drown in it. "I want you to become my Mistress of Fear. And to stand at my side as we overtake the city of Gotham and show them that at the end of fear, is _oblivion_."

Raya prayed she was mistaken. That this was nothing but a hallucinogenic reaction to the toxin he'd sprayed in her face. But he reached out, and those long, delicate fingers brushed her cheek, slid around to the back of her neck. She went cold to the marrow.

"Never," she whispered. "I will _never _become your Mistress of Fear. Nor will I, or Batman, allow you to drown this city in terror."

"Oh," Crane's smile deepened into something that was both sly and child-like. And his fingers slid to her chin, cupped it. "But I disagree."

A voice growled from the shadows, "Get your hands off her, you sick, twisted freak."

Crane looked up and saw a masked figure crouched atop a metal beam. The tan motorcycle jacket, black body armor and thin red mask told him who this was. Not that it really mattered. He had positioned two members of Joker's crew around the Transit area. Red Hood or Batman, the thugs weren't going to be choosy about who they got to beat up.

"Get him!" He commanded.

The first henchman charged. And was quickly dumped down the broken elevator shaft. A black figure swooped from the shadows and slammed into the second henchman, dragging him across the concrete floor. There was a muffled blow and Crane realized he was alone. Except for his beloved. He could use the Fenix as an insurance policy. Negotiate his exit. Give her another concentrated dose of the gas, then-

No.

He was not about to treat _his _Mistress as the clown treated that idiot Quinn woman. He'd have to run. Crane took Raya's hand-she tried to snatch it back from him, but he didn't let go. It shocked her that there was such strength in those long, graceful dactyls. But the psychologist inside her reminded her about how people with multiple personalities could possess surprising strength when the more dominant personality was in control. Crane sketched her a courtly bow, and smiled a most charming smile. She heard a curse and knew that Hood was literally seeing red at that moment. She was going to have a lot of explaining to do once they returned to the cave. But it was not like she'd invited Crane's courtship.

"Must run, my dear." He lifted her hand. "It has indeed been a pleasure," he purred. Slowly, deliberately, he brushed her knuckles with his lips-and felt the shiver of awareness that snaked through her, the shiver she could not hide. With a final, taunting smile at his two nemesis', he nimbly leapt into the elevator and punched the down button. His shrill, chilling laugh echoed in the chamber long after he disappeared.


	6. Epilogue

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons on this story I am deeply grateful! To any new followers, welcome! Please, if you liked _this_ story, follow it's sequel: Batman & Robin: Inceptive (found here: s/9797188/1/Batman-Robin-Inceptive)

**S/N:** Ladies and gentlemen, this is the prologue of **Batman & Robin: Inceptive**. Enjoy :)

* * *

_'You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.'_

**~Eleanor Roosevelt**

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_Gotham Harbor, just after midnight..._

A hand broke the surface of the churning waters and latched onto a floating steel drum, its syringe tips a demonic sunburst against the velvet darkness. A foamy wave rolled over him, pushing him farther away from the island enveloped in the anachronistic grip of the clowns brand of festiveness. All that mattered, though, was that he was free...

...and soon was going to teach Gotham a whole new meaning of _Fear._..


End file.
